


looking for a way to work it out

by eynn



Series: i can't go back and lose it all [29]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Fix-It, Found Family, Gen, Nobody Dies, Post-Order 66, and he is ready to tell everyone their embarrassing toddler stories, gratuitous use of mando'a i just think it's really pretty ok, jango is like, plus it's so cool that it's genderless, sith!jedi order, when did my kids get so big
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26298208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eynn/pseuds/eynn
Summary: – a blurry sense-echo of his ad’ike playing, in the rare sunlight and in the water, and one of them shoving the other in just when he had finally figured out how to buckle the straps on his water shoes all by himself and the sheer and utter grumpiness on his face when one of the shoes had slipped off when he was pushed –He opens both of his eyes since it’s clear that they’ve noticed he’s awake, and looks at his weirdly large child who is standing beside his bed.
Relationships: Jango Fett & All His Kids
Series: i can't go back and lose it all [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658362
Comments: 44
Kudos: 545





	looking for a way to work it out

**Author's Note:**

> well i've had this percolating for like however long it's been since the last one, and all your comments and feedback really helped keep it boiling, and then the useful wishes for the future installments by fai_gensou finally got me to get up and take it off the stove, and this metaphor is getting away from me a bit, but uhhhh
> 
> writing needs lots of external sources of inspiration, i guess, is the point? not like personal encouragement, but Ideas and Headcanons and Thoughts, and all you guys are really nice about providing it, so you're awesome :)
> 
> remember to take your meds and have some water, it's been a weird week and that's what i needed to hear so i'm passing it along
> 
> i hope you all like the Scowl

The air smells like the sea. The tank is dry and warm.

It doesn’t hurt.

It’s not silent.

He stays perfectly still and relaxed while slowly opening one eye to see what is going on.

The walls aren’t white, they’re splattered with color, and the ceiling is some dark color with a riot of stars and nebulas and entire galaxies painted on it in more shades than he knows names for. It’s done very nicely, in contrast to the walls, which look like people literally threw handfuls of paint at it and didn’t wait to see what would stick before throwing more.

The other thing he can see is a scowl. It’s familiar, somehow.

There are hyperspace routes picked out in sparkly silver between the stars. Someone has written things by the planets and along the routes, but it’s too small to see.

The only thing he can read, scrawled in the middle of a largish white-green sun with black marker, are the words ‘that was my nail polish fuck you torrent’.

He does not know what that means.

It has three exclamation points.

Around him there is the quiet tones of machinery. A few seconds of concentration vaguely connects the whirring and beeping with medical. But people are talking and the voices are not Kaminoan. And the Kaminoans would never let their ceiling be covered in a star map.

One of the voices is soft and unsure and whoa right next to him. It’s leaning on the owner of the scowl, turned into him and trusting.

Jango wonders if he has brain damage, for he can only pick out about every sixth word but the language sounds so familiar.

And the scowl. He knows that face.

Of course he knows it, it’s his own, but it’s more than that, he knows that iteration of it because it –

a blurry sense-echo of his ad’ike playing, in the rare sunlight and in the water, and one of them shoving the other in just when he had finally figured out how to buckle the straps on his water shoes all by himself and the sheer and utter _grumpiness_ on his face when one of the shoes had slipped off when he was pushed –

– and the water had not been that deep, not even over their heads, and Jango had waded out to get the shoe and had given it back to Kote and had had the scowl turned on him, equally cute and scary, and for weeks and weeks after that Shushai had been on the receiving end of mysterious flying shoes aimed at his head and that was what had finally given him his name, the quick reflexes and sharp ears he had developed while dodging shoes stolen from literally everyone who wore them on Kamino, and how the hells had Kote even _gotten_ to some of those did he crawl through the pipes maybe having this many kids at once was not the brightest idea he’d ever had –

– and the time he hadn’t been there while the Kaminiise were giving his ad’ike a health check and they were saying that Tranyc was inferior for being an imperfect copy and Kote had given them hell with his tiny teeth and tiny fists and that scowl had been streaked with Kaminiise blood by the time Jango had heard the screaming and come to pry him off the scientist –

– and the utter smug glee on his bloody face when Jango had taken his side when he heard what was going on and shouted at the scientist that technically half of them were imperfect copies in the first place for being jagyc when he was dalyc but they didn’t seem to care about that anymore because he hadn’t made a fuss about it because all that mattered was that they were his ade and there were barely even any words in his language for what the Kaminiise had made a fuss about when they were developed enough to tell, just jagyc and dalyc for medical purposes and rarely ever used in any other context, and if they were going to stop saying half his kids were inferior for being different that him like that they were damn well going to leave Tranyc alone for having a different hair color –

– and that reminds him, Mirdala and Gree and Udesla had to decide if they wanted an implant or shots, had they decided, were they even old enough for it, he couldn’t remember –

The scowl was back, and it had just poked him in the nose.

“Cody!” said the soft voice, reaching out with a pale hand to pull the one belonging to the scowl away. “You can’t just go poking him like that.”

If the soft person is going to be friends with his ad, at least he could get his name right, Jango thinks.

He opens both of his eyes since it’s clear that they’ve noticed he’s awake, and looks at his weirdly large child who is standing beside his bed.

"His name is Kote," he says, but only the last word is audible. “Kaysh edeemer Kaminiise. Ibac tion’jor.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Kote’s friend(?) says dryly. “We have all done some Kaminoan-biting in recent times.”

“Is that the one you met when you found them?” someone asks from out of his sight.

Kote’s friend leans closer and Jango glares at him. He doesn’t seem to get the message.

“I don’t know,” he finally says after scrutinizing him very uncomfortably, during which Jango does his best to make faces with a face that doesn’t want to obey him.

His eyes keep going to his ad even when he tries to concentrate. When did he get so big? How long did they keep him locked up?

“It’s not like we actually knew each other,” the friend is saying, a furrow between his eyes. “Taun We was there the entire time we spoke, and when we were fighting it was raining and he was in full armor. And on Geonosis he was too far away when he had his helmet off to see anything at all, and after that there –” he falters. Kote wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I didn’t look at the body. I’m sorry. I know I should have –”

“What the fuck, Obi-Wan,” says a different voice that he can’t see. From the way both Kote and his friend Obi-Wan react, it seems that the anger in the person’s voice is not normal for her. “We’d just gone through a literal massacre, you had Anakin and Padmé to see to, we were fighting in the first battle of the war with no notice, and in case you don’t remember, we were literally being airlifted out of a death arena with seconds to spare. You weren’t expected to go find and look at the body of one of Dooku’s mercenaries on the off-chance that years later we’d find someone who says he’s actually him alive and frozen here.”

“You have checked him for anything that can alter his appearance?” says yet another new voice, and it’s his own. Jango unobtrusively tries to see who it belongs to. Kote hasn’t spoken yet.

“We did scans for physical disguises and a ritual for Force disguises,” says the first voice. It must be one of the scientists. “Whoever this is, it’s his real appearance.”

He finally gets a glimpse of his other ad, and there’s gold worked into his skin curling around his cheeks and eyes, and he remembers the one who would always laugh and clap whenever he got to play with the few toys they had that were golden, who wanted his armor to be painted with golden stripes, who would sit patiently for hours to see the sun rise or set over the water and streak it through with golden light –

“Ve’vut,” Jango rasps, and they all startle.

He doesn’t know how he knows, but it’s him. It’s the same sense he developed when they were tiny and he found himself with too many identical children to count on both hands and outfits and bracelets could only go so far before getting lost or swapped or forgotten.

“Ve’vut,” he says again, looking desperately into the eyes of his child for any sign that he remembers him, but they only stand looking uncertain, hand in hand with a young Twi’lek wearing about half the wardrobe of a Jedi. There is a lightsaber tucked into a pocket – he can just see the hilt sticking out, and anyway the hum of the crystal inside resonates in his teeth now that he knows to search for it – but there is no string of beads on her lekku, so she must not be as young as she looks.

She speaks and has the voice that he had thought belonged to a scientist. “I think he is talking about your tattoos,” she says, turning to his child.

Ve’vut runs a hand over them, frowning, as though they’ve been there so long he’s forgotten about them.

“Ve’vut,” Jango says, slowly, willing him to understand, and points as best he can at him. “Kote. Ner’ade. Gar’ner ade.” Despite himself, he feels tears begin to run down his face. Where are the others? Is this all that are left? And why are they grown? What has happened to them? “Vaii gar vod’e?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have moved to point, because everything is hurting a lot more and the room is getting dark.

“Kote,” he says into the blackness. “Vaii Tranyc? Mar’eyir kaysh, cabour kaysh.”

And then everything is quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> all right! here's some translations, by popular demand:
> 
> kaysh -- he/him/his/her/hers  
> edeemer -- bites  
> ibac -- that  
> tion'jor -- why  
> ner'ade -- my children/sons/daughters  
> gar -- you/your/you all  
> jagyc -- male  
> dalyc -- female  
> vaii -- where  
> mar'eyir -- find/discover  
> cabour -- protect
> 
> so basically, what jango says is:
> 
> 'he bites kaminoans. that's why.'
> 
> 've'vut. kote. my children. you are my children. where are your siblings?'
> 
> 'kote, where's tranyc? find him. protect him.'
> 
>   
> aaaand fun fact time! apparently that weird 'yc' ending on lots of words is pronounced like 'eesh'  
> i use mandoa.org for all my translating and it's a really nice dictionary if you're interested in that kind of thing like i am


End file.
